Condolences
by Haasak
Summary: Spock offers his condolences after Christopher Pike's death.


Condolences

Jim Kirk felt numb. He stood at the window of his small San Francisco apartment, his left arm raised over his head as he leaned against the glass. From his thirty-fourth floor apartment he could see Starfleet headquarters barely two blocks away. Clean-up crews had worked all night, clearing rubble from the streets below.

Jim sighed. He had not gotten a wink of sleep since last night's attack. He'd cried, he'd smashed things, he'd yelled at the top of his lungs, but nothing could stop the tightness he felt in his chest or remove the golf ball-sized lump that rested in his throat. Nothing could keep him from recalling Christopher Pike's bloodstained face and blank stare, or hearing the words the Admiral had spoken to him not twenty four hours before.

 _You don't take responsibility for anything, and you don't respect the chair. And you know why? Because you're not ready for it._

The door buzzer pulled Jim from his thoughts. He peeled himself away from the window, turning to face the door. He really did not want to see anybody. He knew he probably looked like hell. He considered going back to bed, pretending that he wasn't there. Instead, he took a deep breath, walked to the door and pulled it open.

"Spock." The Vulcan stood straight as ever, his hands grasped behind his back. He met Jim's eyes, searching them. He took in his former Captain's ragged appearance, untidy hair, and red-rimmed eyes.

"Captain," he said with a quick nod.

"It's Commander now. Remember?" said Jim coolly.

"May I come in, Commander?" asked Spock. Jim said nothing, but moved aside, gesturing with his arm for Spock to enter. Spock nodded again in thanks. Jim walked to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a bottle of beer.

"Beer?" he asked, holding the bottle out to Spock.

"No, thank you." Jim shrugged and used the counter to pop the cap off of his own bottle.

"Would you like to sit?" Jim asked, indicating the couch in front of them.

"Yes, thank you." Spock took a seat on the coach. Jim sat in the arm chair across from him. For a few moments, they sat in silence. Spock examined the room around him. He had never been to Jim's apartment before. Jim, himself, spent little time there. Spock was surprised to find it so sparsely decorated; he could see no personal items, aside from the furniture. His eyes paused to rest on a pile of broken glass in the corner – the remnants of a beer bottle, most likely. He returned his eyes to Jim.

"Commander, are you well?" Jim lifted his eyes, but did not quite meet Spock's.

"I'm fine," he said quietly. Then he cleared his throat and asked, "Was there something I can do for you, Spock?"

"Is it not customary for humans to offer their condolences when someone has lost someone close to them?" Spock asked with a raised eyebrow. Jim was quiet for a moment.

"We all lost someone last night," he said finally, still refusing to meet Spock's eyes.

"You are correct, Commander. The admiral will be missed by all of the crew. However, I can't help but feel that his death has affected you on a more personal level." Finally, Jim raised his eyes to meet Spock's.

"When Chris found me," Jim started, "I was in a bad place – didn't care about anything or anyone, wallowing in self-pity because I'd been dealt a bad hand in life. Chris told me to get over myself." He gave small smile. "He was the first person in a long time that cared whether I was dead or alive. He convinced me that I could be more than I was. That I could do something meaningful with my life." Jim paused, looking back down at his feet.

"He did so much for me, Spock, and I let him down. He was right. I had no business sitting in that chair. I'm no Captain. You were right to file that report, Spock. I was the idiot. I let so many people down."

"Commander, while your methods are at times . . . unorthodox, I think we both know that you are not an idiot. In fact, you are one of the most intelligent humans I have had the pleasure of working with. In addition, you command a level of respect from your crew that is rarely seen." Jim opened his mouth to argue, but Spock cut him off.

". . . Nor do I believe that you 'let down' the admiral, as you say." Spock paused, before continuing in a more somber tone, "Commander, I was with the Admiral as he died. I joined with his consciousness as he passed. I felt his fear and confusion, but I also felt his fondness and his concern for you. I think it safe to say that the Admiral was, in fact, quite proud of you." When Jim looked up again, his eyes were damp. He turned away for a moment, wiping his eyes before returning his gaze to Spock.

"I'm just so angry, Spock," he said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. "Sometimes I wish I could be more like you – logical, not bogged down by emotion." Spock raised an eyebrow. He looked as though he might respond, but decided against it. Instead he stood from his spot.

"Commander, I should leave you to rest. Mr. Scott has begun searching the wreckage of Harrison's ship for clues as to his whereabouts. I shall let you know if we discover anything meaningful."

"Please do," said Jim, standing alongside Spock.

"Do rest, Commander."

"Thanks, Spock," Jim said with a small smile, placing a hand on Spock's shoulder and squeezing gently.

"Of course, Commander," said Spock with nod. As he turned to leave, Jim called out one more time.

"Spock." Spock turned back.

"It's Jim. Just Jim."

Spock nodded, and then passed through the door without another word.

Jim stared after him for a moment, and then resumed his post by the window. Soon enough, he thought, Pike's death would be just another battle scar to add to his collection.


End file.
